The last Elf
by Niliathiel
Summary: In an endless desert near the end of the world, the last Men met the last Elf...


Author´s note: Hallo guys. This is another shortstory which was first written in German and was later Translated into English. I hope that I managed to create the same atmosphere... Oh yes, and because you wanted me to do this, I tried to leave some gaps between the Paragraphes, so it is easier to read. I would really like to know what you think about this one. So have a look and review please. Special greetings to Ele and Aldarwen. (I collect all you Typo tipps and will make use of them at times, I promise *g*)  
  
The last Elf  
  
In the middle of an endless desert at the end of the world, the last Man, met the last Elf. The Elf was sitting there, leaning his back on a rock, while looking up to the cloudless skies above, which were covered with countless stars. His face was young and fair, although he had seen many lifes of Men. The Man stepped towards him. He was as lonely as the Elf- the last of his kin, just like he was. A long time ago the Elves had possesed the dominion of this world. In that time, when the continents still had another shape and when there were still creatures in this world that a Man like him had long ago abandoned to the world of myth and legends. The Man had lost everything, but as much as he desired a companion, he felt while looking upon this elf, that the two of them were so different. His face was fair, his life would last endlessly, his youth would be eternal. The Man touched his face with shaky fingers. Soon there would be the first signs of age in it, then he would become old and then, when he would long be gone this world would belong to the Elf. In that moment he was taken by jelousy, when the Elf turned his eyes from the stars and looked at him.  
  
None of them said a word and after a while the Elf turned his face towards the sky again. The Man stepped closer. Looked at him. He is an Elf, he thought. His folk is forgotten since the old days. We- Men, are the true lords of this world. When the Elf looked at him for a second time, the Man spoke: "You sit there to look at the stars! Everything is dead and destroyed, and you glance at the sky." The Elf just smiled sadly but didn´t answer. "All these long centuries your folk has looked upon the stars full of passion and desire." the Man said. "You sang songs for them, you admired them. But Men have conquered the stars. We flew up to them to see them close. We came closer to the Sun and the stars than anybody from the Elvenfolk!"  
  
Even now the Elf gave no reply and this made the Man angry. He stared to the ground and his eyes catched the Elf´s sword, which was lying next to him. The blade had become dark in the battle - the last battle- and its hilt, which had once been beautyful, was now covered with dirt and blood. "Your kindred always faced dangers with sword and bow and arrow ever since the old days. But of what use were all these swords? The dangers of old, that your folk could hardly defeat had been easily undone by us Men. A few fighting helicopters and machine guns had hunted all the demons of Old to the world´s end. Your sharty blade is nothing more than the toy of a child!"  
  
The Elf looked at him once more and a sad smile played around his ageless eyes. His hand, covered with a bloody cloth touched the sword and wandered over the blade in an almost loving gesture. Then he said: "Your weapons were no more use for you, Man!" The way he said the word "Man" was neither hurting nor showing any signs of anger; no provocation or threat lay in it. Just sadness.  
  
The Man sat down next to the Elf and stroke his injured legs. He had been running for days. Without water. Without food. He felt terribly weak and weary. But he would never have admitted this in front of the Elf. An Elf, whose kin had always talked of the weakness of Men and the weakness of the world of Men. These words had always made the Man furious. Maybe because he felt that they were closer to truth than he himself wanted to know?  
  
There was silence for another while. The Elf had closed his eyes, but it seemed that he was not sleeping, because his breath was irregular. When the Man turned towards him, he saw that the Elf was worse injured than he had thought. His armour was wet from his blood. And suddenly the Man knew what was happening: The Elf died. He did not complain. When the Man got up and turned towards him, he recognized that life was already fading from his eyes. And in this moment he felt an indescribable grief and at the same time he felt, how wrong all those things were that he had believed to know about Elves. Their were beings older and undeniably wiser than every Man, beings whose eyes had witnessed more than every Man on earth. And he was the last. The last of the kindred of the Eldar. Another glance into the Elf´s sad eyes told him that the thing he had feared had not come true. For not the Elf would once rule the world- it would be him: the last Man. For the light in the Elf´s eyes was broken, the Elf was dead.  
  
When the Man bowed down to his dead body and looked at him, he felt a feeling raising inside of him, that he thought to have forgotten a long time ago: despair. He was alone... he was the King of the World, but there was nothing left to be king of. The Man got to his feet and turned around. The sun was raising above the horizone and clad the whole desert with a strange red. The Man started to walk into the direction of the red sun. He did not know where his feet carried him nor where the would carry him. He just walked on....! 


End file.
